You’d think. Wouldn’t you? Surely, after the Ophelia saga, peace would descend for a bit?

You’d maybe think after a spell in hospital, bladder bugs would be too scared to emerge?

You’d think the rest of the family would be fit and well and charging around?

Well of course you’d be wrong.

My parents 60th Anniversary last weekend. Somehow or other everyone turned up.

Around the table 50% had visited hospital in the 7 preceding days including Dad, me, daughter 1 and daughter-in-law, horse riding accident, 22 stitches, ouch.

In addition, those that had not been medicalised that week, fell foul of some dreadful bug in the night. They were all ill in my house. Last guest left Monday. I’ve been spraying dettol on every nook and cranny ever since.

Then of course there’s BoariJ. Of course I never did get the precious script from Jerome. Nor the meds I’d left in hospital. 50 phone calls. His office said they’d send all. But never did. Poor Jerome. A week off and chaos reigned.

As infection started to rage once more I tried to contact Dipstick. Jerome is away. Poor Jerome. He thought he’d put excellent plan in place. Script. Meds. Dipstick. All lined up. Just in case. Dipstick was indeed ‘around’ . His office said he’d ring between patients.

Then they said he’d ring after clinic.

Then said he’d ring after he operated.

Then said he’d suggested I make an appointment to see him next week. ( I thought I already had). In fact they offered me another slot on the same clinic. That’s bloody mad. I emailed. I texted. I rang. “Please help” to no avail. So I haven’t spoken to him. In fact it seems I don’t have an appointment either. I’d probably hit him if I did.His secretary puts out auto response emails which say ‘ office will respond in 48 hours’. 48 years more like.

Awesome Dr Yes, our GP, spied me in the Rottweiler queue. He scooped me out of Rottweiler zone as I waited for pee and flee. GP did not have discharge letter. GP needed to know what to whiter shade of pale or not do. I had no appointment and he was meant to be sorting his spreadsheets not his patients!. He went through everything. Checked. Measured. Listened. We need to find out more he said. We tried. He tried. I tried. Bloods, msu, observations…low threshold for readmittance, he said. Mhmm let’s talk to London he said. But of course Dipstick has not replied. 48 years? His office maybe still dusting off ye olde‘ fax’ .

It’s the weekend now. So that’s that really. Dr Yes has given emergency supplies… hoping hoping we’ve got it right.

I’ll just make it up. Fireworks in the kidney. Apposite really. Guy Fawkes meets illogical urological.

Why does Dip always say ‘ you know how to get hold of me’ ? No I really really don’t. What the hell am I meant to do?

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